


Crumbs and Foil

by susurrate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Eve, Gen, Poor Harry, fuck you Dumbledore for leaving a child in this hellhole, healthy dose of Christmas angst, not okay, the best Christmas gift, wtf Aunt Petunia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 09:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susurrate/pseuds/susurrate





	Crumbs and Foil

Christmas Eve was the one night of the year when Dudley had a strict, enforced bedtime. 

A soft _thud_ from the living room woke Harry, who grinned at the chance to catch Dudley breaking one of the few rules his parents insisted he obey. Harry figured he might be able to buy himself a week free from his cousin’s bullying if he confronted the boy now and negotiated keeping his secret.

Harry padded out of bed and was careful to open his cupboard door slowly to avoid creaking. In his excitement, he almost forgot to put on his glasses; the new luxury hadn’t become habit yet, as he kept expecting Aunt Petunia to take them away as quickly as she’d bitingly provided them.

As Harry tip-toed closer he was surprised to see it wasn’t Dudley out of bed past midnight after all. Aunt Petunia whipped her face around to look at the noise by the staircase, fearful her son would catch her playing Santa Claus. “Oh, it’s only _you_,” she sneered, annoyed that the boy had scared her.

Harry saw only a few gifts wrapped, with another maybe forty left to go. Some were clearly gifts for herself or her husband, but most were for her son. Harry took a risk. “Can I help?”

She wanted to tell him to get back in the cupboard where he belonged, that Christmas was a family holiday and had nothing to do with him. But she was tired, and a second set of hands would mean she could go to bed sooner. “Not a word of this to Vernon, or your cousin.”

Harry nodded and joined her sitting on the carpet. He pulled a roll of wrapping paper towards him and a large box with the latest remote control car splashed across the front. 

“I’m only showing you how to do this once,” Petunia warned. “If you’re not going to do it right then spare me the time and go back to bed now.”

“I’ll do it right,” Harry promised.

Petunia heaved a long-suffering sigh and gave clipped instructions on how to wrap gifts like a mall-station professional, including tips on double-sided tape, seamless folding, and tying grosgrain ribbon. Harry wrapped his first gift while Petunia poured herself another glass of sherry and watched him critically. If the boy wasn’t up to the task, she needed to know on the first box, not ten boxes later. To her surprise, Harry had replicated her instructions and produced a beautifully wrapped gift. 

“Acceptable.” She slid the bulk of Dudley’s gifts toward the boy. “Do the rest of these.”

They worked in cooperative silence for a long time, passing tape or scissors to each other with barely a gesture to indicate their need. Harry concentrated on making sure he performed to perfection. This was the first time his aunt had trusted him with something important, and he was determined to show her that he could be something more than a burden.

Petunia was working on wrapping smaller items, but it wasn’t until she pulled the three stockings down from the chimney that Harry clued into what was happening. “I knew it,” he said with a grin.

Aunt Petunia gave him a sharp glare. “Don’t you dare ruin this for Dudders,” she snapped. “He still believes in Santa, and it’s important that he keeps his innocence as long as possible!”

Harry nodded. “I’ve known for ages Santa wasn’t real. I never shared that thought with Dudley before, I won’t now.”

She filled the ‘Petunia’ stocking with soaps and lotions, a rhinestone compact, and a candy cane. With an unreadable twist of her lips Petunia baited, “Are you telling me you don’t believe in magic?” She reached for the ‘Vernon’ stocking.

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t.”

Petunia paused and looked at the boy searchingly. Harry glanced up, made nervous by her scrutiny. She took a long sip of her drink. “Did you ever?”

“Ever…?”

“Believe in magic.”

Harry desperately wanted to give her the answer she wanted, but he wasn’t sure what that was. She clearly thought it was good for boys like Dudley to believe, but it was his rejection of magic that seemed to earn him this newfound consideration. “I don’t know,” he hedged. 

She sneered. 

Harry took a gulping gamble and lied, saying: “I don’t think so, not really. Even when you think it’s there, it’s always an illusion or trick. You can’t trust it.” 

It was the first time her eyes had ever softened while looking at him. She reached above the mantle and took down the delicate china plate with the special desserts for Santa. “You may have one,” she said, holding the plate towards him.

Harry was stunned. He picked up one round ball wrapped in gold foil. “Thank you,” he said politely. He delicately unwrapped the chocolate, preserving the gold foil without any tears and laying it flat beside him. He bit into the treat and smiled at his aunt, who ate a piece with him. 

“You know, your mother and I used to sneak downstairs every Christmas Eve,” Petunia said, surprised to find her glass empty. She refilled it and continued. “We’d unwrap all our gifts just to see what they were a few hours early, and then carefully put the wrapping back together to make it look like we were never there.” She smiled, the boy’s green eyes strumming a familiar regret at losing her sister to that wicked school. 

They continued wrapping in silence. Harry wished she would keep sharing stories with him, but he knew better than to ask. Soon, Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley’s stockings all hung plump from the mantle, and Petunia had finished wrapping her share of the gifts. _‘To Petunia, with love, Vernon’ _read several tags in his aunt’s neat penmanship. Harry suddenly felt sad for her supporting this family tradition alone.

As Harry measured the last box, his aunt taped tags to the gifts he had wrapped. Moments later, their task was over. Harry’s heart felt full, the gift of chocolate and connection swelling in him. He knew he shouldn’t say anything, but he didn’t want to let things go back to the way they were. He had to see if there was any way of preserving or promoting the progress they had made. “You know,” he whispered, “If there’s ever anything I can do to help you…I’d like that.” He braced himself for the inevitable scoff.

But it never came. He looked up to see her studying him, calculating something he didn’t understand. He waited for her verdict with drowning eyes.

She reached forward with one hand. His body flinched automatically, expecting the familiar slap. But she held his cheek with her palm, gently, motherly. He trembled, his body overwhelmed with gratitude for this sacred affection.

“There’s only one thing you can do for me, for my family,” Petunia said softly.

Harry looked at her hopefully. _Anything,_ he promised silently.

Her eyes were half lidded from too much sherry. Her smile shifted, and in a low voice she said: “Kill yourself.”

Harry felt his entire world shatter. “Wh—what?”

“Kill yourself,” Petunia repeated, stroking his cheek with kindness. “The only thing I could want from you is the gift of unburdening my family with your existence.”

Harry reached down and pinched gold foil between his fingers, crumbs of chocolate feeling oily against his skin. “…but…”

“I’d stay with you,” she offered. Her hand was softer than he’d ever imagined. “I’ll give you pills, and I’ll stay here and watch over you until you’re gone. You won’t suffer. You won’t be alone.”

His eyes burned as tears slipped past. When he said nothing, Petunia removed her hand from his face. She stood, towering over him. “But of course, you won’t do that for me. You’re too selfish.” She took a few steps toward the staircase and then paused to look back at him. “It’s why no one will ever love you.” She went upstairs with a satisfied smile to her husband’s bed.

Harry looked across the room at the gifts they had prepared together. He looked down at the gold wrapper in his hands. The magic of ‘maybe’, of crumbs and foil had only been an illusion after all.


End file.
